Episode 2 - The Second Petal
1983 Words
Since that night, Su Ninghua’s heart had never beaten at the same pace again.
Though she nodded obediently to Qin Wenqing’s instructions, she told herself over and over that what had happened in the forbidden spring had merely been an accident…
Every time she closed her eyes, the image returned with merciless clarity.
A bare chest carved with silver incantations. A pair of cold eyes that had trembled for the briefest fraction of a second. And the searing touch that had traced across the flower mark on her skin.
They were sharper than dreams. The birthmark beneath her left breast still pulsed with warmth, as if it remembered that touch, and waited for it to come again.
By the following morning, rumors had already swept through White Cloud Sect.
A new disciple had trespassed into the forbidden grounds, and returned alive.
The way the others looked at Ninghua had changed. Some gazes carried envy. Others suspect. And a few… unmistakable resentment.
Mu Yuechi, the inner court’s foremost disciple, stood at a distance, observing.
She was as poised as a plum blossom blooming in snow, elegant, untouchable. She had once believed she was the only woman within the sect who could approach Yan Yun within three steps. Or at least, she had believed so.
“You truly entered the forbidden spring?”
Mu Yuechi’s voice was even, but her eyes were sharp as blades.
Ninghua hesitated before giving a small nod.
“I did not intend to.”
A faint smile curved Yuechi’s lips.
“Nothing in this world happens without intent.”
The words were as cold as the morning wind.
That night, Ninghua tried to steady her breathing and cultivate in meditation. Yet the energy within her churned violently, refusing to settle.
The second petal on her flower mark slowly unfurled, its outline growing clearer beneath her skin.
Suddenly….
The protective barrier around her quarters trembled. A tall silhouette materialized within the moonlight.
Yan Yun.
He stood there like a shadow, silent, composed, yet carrying an oppressive weight.
“Why are you here?” Ninghua asked, her voice lower than usual.
He did not answer at once.
His gaze rested upon the left side of her chest, as though seeing through the thin fabric to the mark beneath.
“Your energy is losing balance,” he said at last, his tone flat.
“If you allow it to continue, the third petal will open on its own.”
Her heart pounded.
“And what will happen then?”
He fell silent for a moment. When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter.
“I will no longer be able to stop it.”
He stepped closer.
With every step, the air grew colder, yet her breathing turned hotter.
“I will try again.”
The words made her flinch.
“Try… what?”
“To merge our energies.”
He did not look away.
“If the preliminary rite succeeds, the Key will seal the Scripture. The demonic force will subside.”
And he… would no longer need to come near her.
Ninghua did not know whether that thought should bring relief or disappointment. Before she could decide, Yan Yun lifted his hand.
This time, there was no barrier of cloth. No veil of water. Only skin against skin.
His cold palm pressed directly against the flower mark. Power detonated instantly.
Wind spiraled through the chamber, whipping curtains into the air. Silver and crimson light flashed in violent succession, illuminating the walls in trembling waves.
Ninghua bit down on her lip to keep from crying out.
The heat pierced deeper than before… deeper than flesh… like something inside her chest was being forced open, unlocked from within.
Yan Yun clenched his jaw.
He could feel his own heartbeat, pounding, relentless, far stronger than necessary.
Not because of the ritual. Not because of the power. But because of the girl before him. Because he knew, if he possessed her, if he claimed both her and the force within her, she could free him.
The attraction between Scripture and Key burned too fiercely to resist for long.
“Stop… !” Ninghua’s voice trembled.
Pain surged up her throat. Tears gathered at the corners of her eyes. An image flashed across his mind. A thousand years untouched. A thousand years without laughter. An existence never chosen, only used.
His hand trembled for the briefest fraction of a second. The ritual faltered.
Power rebounded violently.
They were thrown apart by the shockwave. The light shattered into darkness. Silence crashed down over the room.
Ninghua gasped for breath, clutching her chest. The second petal had fully bloomed. The third remained tightly closed. The merging had failed. The Scripture was not sealed. Yan Yun stood in the center of the chamber, his gaze no longer steady.
Slowly, he lifted a hand to his own chest, pressing against the place where his heart continued to beat far too hard. Ninghua stared at him, confusion clouding her eyes.
“Why did it fail?”
He closed his eyes briefly before answering in a low voice.
“Because I… am not pure enough to merge.”
He did not mean power. But she did not yet understand. The night wind drifted in through the open window. Their shadows overlapped upon the floor, close, almost touching, yet still unable to become one. And beyond the darkness outside her quarters, someone stood watching. Qin Wenqing’s eyes cooled by degrees.
(The second petal has opened. The game is moving faster than I… calculated.)
At the first light of dawn, golden rays unfurled over the peaks of White Cloud Mountain. The bell summoning disciples rang clear and resonant across the training grounds.
Su Ninghua opened her eyes, her breathing uneven.
She had barely slept.
The power from the previous night still coursed through her meridians like a warm current that refused to ebb. Beneath the skin over her left breast, the flower mark pulsed faintly in rhythm with her heart, ,yet it was no longer the same rhythm as before.
It was steadier. Deeper. More grounded. And unmistakably stronger.
She pushed herself upright and gathered her hair. The glossy black strands caught the morning light reflected in the bronze mirror. Something about her reflection had subtly changed. Her eyes were clearer than before, and deep within them flickered a faint crimson glimmer.
“Last night…”
The mere memory of that ice-cold palm pressing directly against her skin made her breath hitch.
Yet what remained was not pain.
It was power. And that power was responding to the call of the morning bell.
…………
The vast training grounds were filled with new disciples standing in orderly rows according to rank and strength. Mu Yuechi stood at the front with effortless grace, her white robes pristine as fresh snow. She cast Ninghua a brief glance before looking away with studied indifference.
But Ninghua felt the pressure all the same.
“Begin basic qi regulation practice.”
The inner court instructor’s voice rang out.
Everyone closed their eyes, formed hand seals, and drew spiritual energy into their dantian.
Ninghua followed suit. And the instant she settled her mind. Power surged into her body like a dam bursting.
The wind across the training grounds shifted abruptly. Robes snapped sharply in the sudden gust. Leaves spiraled upward though no one had summoned them. Several disciples startled and opened their eyes.
“Who is losing control of their energy… ?!”
The instructor’s words had not yet finished when. The stone beneath Ninghua’s feet began to glow faintly. Fine lines of script spread outward from where she stood, like silver roots hidden beneath the earth.
Mu Yuechi slowly opened her eyes.
Her sharp gaze fixed on the source. Ninghua drew in a steadying breath and forced the power back.
Yet instead of the chaotic turbulence she had expected, the energy obeyed her with startling ease. It flowed in disciplined cycles, as if anchored by something at its core.
That core was… cold. And familiar.
The instructor frowned and stepped forward, checking Ninghua’s pulse without a word. In mere moments, surprise flickered across his features.
“You have only just entered the sect. How is your dantian already so open?”
Ninghua lowered her gaze. She did not know how to answer. Or perhaps she did, but could not speak it aloud.
The previous night, Yan Yun’s power had not merely touched her. It had merged with her for a fleeting moment and left something behind.
As though he had embedded his very breath within her meridians. Mu Yuechi stepped forward.
“Instructor, allow me to test her myself.”
The training grounds fell silent at once. A morning duel with the inner court’s foremost disciple was no trivial matter. The instructor nodded.
“Only a test. No harm.”
Mu Yuechi offered a faint smile before raising her hand to summon her qi. Her energy was clean, pure, sharp as a honed blade.
“Junior Sister, be careful.”
A streak of white wind shot straight toward Ninghua, swift and razor-edged. Ninghua lifted her hand on instinct.
What happened next made the entire training ground forget to breathe.
Silver light tinged with pale crimson burst from her palm without a single incantation. It spread into a thin, trembling veil, rippling like the surface of water.
Mu Yuechi’s wind slammed into it. And dissolved. Not rebounded. Not shattered.
It simply vanished, as though absorbed by soft silk.
A wave of gasps swept across the courtyard. Mu Yuechi stilled. For the briefest fraction of a second, something flickered through her sharp eyes.
“This power…”
It did not belong to a new disciple.
It was deep. Cold. Ancient. Ninghua herself was stunned. She had not intended to defend so completely.
Yet in that fleeting instant when the attack rushed toward her, her body had moved on its own, as though someone stood behind her, steadying her hand.
The wind across the training grounds fell silent.
In the shadow of a distant pavilion, Yan Yun stood watching quietly. His black robes stirred faintly in the remnants of the breeze. His expression was composed, but within his chest, his heart pounded once more.
(The ritual failed last night. And yet… the trace of our merging has rooted itself deeper than I anticipated.)
His power was truly circulating within her body.Faster than it should. More dangerous than it ought to be. And more frightening still. Was the feeling he could not deny as he watched her standing beneath the morning light, stronger because of him.
Without a sound, Qin Wenqing appeared beside the pavilion. His cold gaze fixed upon the training ground.
“Too fast,” he murmured.
“I did not order the second petal to fully bloom.”
Yan Yun did not respond.
“You were the one who released your power last night.”
Qin Wenqing’s voice was calm, but edged with steel.
“If I had not,” Yan Yun replied slowly, “she would have fallen into imbalance.”
“Or perhaps you are the one who has lost balance.”
Silence stretched between the two men.
Below, Mu Yuechi clenched her hand tightly. She smiled again, but this time, her eyes were different.
“Junior Sister is truly impressive.”
The praise sounded gentle, yet the air around her grew noticeably colder. The game within White Cloud Sect… had begun to shift.
Ninghua lifted her head without realizing it. Her gaze collided with Yan Yun’s across the distance. Only for a heartbeat. Yet both of their breaths faltered at the same moment. The flower mark beneath her skin pulsed warmly. And over his chest, the silver incantations glowed in answer. No words were needed.
The power from last night still bound them together. And the tighter that bond grew. The nearer the day of choice would come.
- Writer
- chap_listContents
- likeADD